Bonded
by OrangePlum
Summary: England and America spend some time together trapped in an elevator. US/UK


"This is your fault, you know."

The sudden declaration spoken passive-aggressively from the opposite corner of the elevator had America raising his head from where he was crouched on the floor. England was staring resolutely at his foggy reflection in the metal door, arms firmly crossed in annoyance. He made it a point not to look at his companion.

"I'm sorry," America spoke, his tone airy and condescendingly amicable. "Did I just hear you right?"

England merely responded with a sniff, jutting his chin up.

"Cuz correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe I just heard you say this was my fault." America flashed a dazzling smile when green eyes reluctantly darted to the man on the floor, elbows draped over the pants he'd pressed for him earlier that morning. Why even bother with personal appearance when America wasn't going to appreciate the little niceties he did to make him look presentable?

Not that wrinkled pants had anything to do with good bone structure or an ass one could sink their teeth into, but would it kill him to at least wait till lunch to start disregarding his appearance?

"OK, I'll bite. How is the elevator breaking down my fault?" America asked, tone still deceptively light. He rose from where he was perched in the corner to tower over England. Just because he was older than him didn't mean he wasn't going to use his height over him to his advantage.

England hesitated a moment before muttering, "There's a weight limit."

"There's only two of us in here, Arthur!" America squawked, speaking animatedly with broad arm gestures. "How's that got anything to do with me?"

"It's there're," England snipped.

America gave him an owlish blink. "Huh?"

"You said there's. It's there're. There're only two of us in here. I spent all that time teaching you grammar, you should darn well use it." He pinched the bridge of his nose, doing his best to ignore America's sputtering beside him, that vein starting to do the conga in his temple. He sighed.

"Look, I don't mean to be short with you-"

"That's impossible."

England shot his colleague, last night lover, a scathing look and slapped his hands away as he started to jut them between their heads. "Oh, grow up will you. I was trying to apologize for my temper and be the bigger man-"

"Once again, impossible-"

"Listen here you ungrateful little cad, I'll have you know this is a very important meeting, one neither of us can afford to be late for, and we're stuck in this blasted elevator for God knows what reason! I'm sorry if I'm a bit frustrated," he hissed, shoving his briefcase into America's chest. He grunted, giving a petulant scowl, then shoved back.

England stumbled, catching balance with his hand on the door. It let out an ungodly squeal as skin drug across it, causing both men to wince.

A long, tense moment of silence passed between the two of them before America awkwardly adjusted his cufflinks, England straightening his tie.

"I'm sure they've noticed by now, dude," America uncomfortably tried to reassure after a beat. England traced the curve of his jaw up to his cheekbone with his eyes. The naturally tanned skin was dusted with crimson, a physical sign America could not hide of his embarrassment for pushing him.

"This kinda stuff happens all the time. We just gotta wait til they send someone up here and pry us out. No biggie."

England grunted as his shoulder received a much too enthusiastic slap. He rubbed the abused area with his hand, furrowing his brow skeptically.

"I am quite aware, Alfred, but this is the 36 floor. I can't imagine it will get us free in, say, the twelve minutes we have to be situating ourselves in the cool, private conference room where I'm sure our guests are already awaiting our arrival."

"You want me to rip the doors off and swing us out of here like Tarzan?"

"As nice as you'd look in a loincloth, lad, I really don't think that would be 'low profile', hm?" England said, giving him a quick pinched smile in his stress.

"Then it looks like we're playing the damsel in distress on this one. Make yourself comfortable."

America slid his back down the wall, stretching his legs out as far as they'd go in the small cube of a room. He resembled a cat in the sun, stretching his long limbs over his head with a jaw popping yawn. England wasn't quite sure how America could always have a nonchalance to him, like silly putty; wherever he was thrown, he was always malleable enough to morph to whatever situation that was presented to him him.

"I'll stand, thank you."

"Aw, c'mon. We're not in public, and we're not _technically_ at work yet. You don't have to do that prim and proper thing with me. It's just me, Artie."

England grimaced, hating that nickname, but it got his attention. America was peering up at him, patting the spot beside him, beckoning.

With probably more drama than he had to display, England rolled his eyes and sighed heavily, throwing himself beside his companion. The feeling of a firm arm being thrown around his shoulder and pulling him flat against America's side like he was born to fit there didn't feel too bad at all, not that he'd verbally announce that to him.

America wiggled beside him in a sense of self-satisfaction, a bubble of laughter rising from his throat.

"It's like a government funded private date," America joked.

England snorted into the crook of America's neck, getting drunk off the cocktail that was his cologne and shampoo. He shut his eyes, soaking it in. "What a piss poor date, lad. Your bar is set a tad too low."

"Hey, I spent the night with you, didn't I?" He croaked out a string of laughter as he was abruptly elbowed, hard in the ribs.

"Don't mix business with pleasure. We won't be trapped forever, as you've implied. So don't get too comfortable." As if to prove his point, he raised an impressive eyebrow and lifted the hand sneaking into the corner of his suit coat.

"Gee, uh, how did that get there?"

With a shake of his head, England attempted to be the adult here. Not that America wasn't capable of being serious when he wanted to be, but most often than not it seemed he didn't take things as serious as he really should've.

"You really do get off on this sort of thing, don't you?" England closed his eyes and took a steadying breath when the hand around his shoulder slithered behind him and out of the watchful eye of the elevator camera. The breath stuttered between his teeth when bare knuckles met the skin of his lower back.

"Not really," America grinned, the barest hint of his teeth brushing the pulse beneath England's ear, throwing his weight forward so that it just would look simply like he was laughing to any outside observer. England knew better. The hand inside his dress shirt was rubbing higher. "But I know you do, and I get off on you getting off on it. Funny how that works."

"I'm trying to be the sane one and be justifiably indignant because we now have -" he checked his watch, jolting and arching his back, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, when nails dug firmly into his skin. When he spoke again, America looked too self-satisfied in the tremble in his voice, "five minutes before we are late. Behave! I can't possibly be the only one annoyed."

"I was annoyed when you implied I was fat. I'm not annoyed about this. I think it's kinda funny." His breath ghosted over the side of England's face, whispering the last of his words and delighting in the way his own breath caught.

"You're impossible."

"Hey, I'd rather be in here with you than out there signing boring papers with politicians so old their balls drag on the floor behind them when they walk."

England scrunched his nose in disgust at America's choice of words but hesitated when he saw the earnestness reflected in the blue of his eyes. The hand stopped its repetition of circles around his spine, instead pulling England's spare hand up.

Grinning like he was drunk on ecstasy as any fool would be, he laughed and kissed the top of his hand with a "Mwah!"

Any and all legitimate irritation simmered to mild annoyance at their current predicament. But it was hard to stay in a foul mood for something so trivial as America had put it. There are always meetings and papers and faces to meet. There will always be a never ending flow of meetings. It will be like that till they both cease to exist.

Being trapped in an elevator for quite possibly an hour with a man who radiated sunshine and made his heart pound like it would fall out of his chest at any moment was more of a gift than he'd given it credit for.

America felt the exact moment England melted beside him, relaxing and accepting their fate for the morning.

Eventually, the doors were opened and they were rescued, pulled from their momentary confinement together. England grabbed America by the wrist, dragging him down the long hallways to the meeting they were drastically late for, an apology for their tardiness already on the tip of his tongue.

But just before he opened the door, he paused, grinning almost defiantly at the perplexed eyes blinking down at him. If he looked at them too long he'd surely go blind.

A loud kiss to America's hand, and he held the door open. "After you, Mr. Jones."

America ran his hands through his hair, infected with the contagious love shared between them, and gestured with him as well with a face-splitting grin. "By all means, Mr. Kirkland!"


End file.
